


Going Downward, Dogg

by clusband



Category: Hiveswap
Genre: Anal Fingering, Humor, Other, safe sex practices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:21:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28728012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clusband/pseuds/clusband
Summary: Remember how you asked me to figure out something humans do that trolls don’t?
Relationships: Marvus Xoloto/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 47





	Going Downward, Dogg

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from my tumblr! "God didn't put a g-spot in the asshole for nothing" and "I'm the king/queen of aftercare." "Then prove it." Yes my liege I love that for him!!!

The first thing that greets you when you enter Marvus’s hive is Marvus’s ass.

Well, that’s a sign as much as any.

His back is arched as he stretches forward, his hamstrings straining beneath his plain black basketball shorts. The Snoop Dog playing in the background accentuates the mood just right; Marvus is all gym and juicy right now, that’s for sure. 

Unfortunately, sneaking up on him is out of the question. As soon as you place one foot forward, he shifts his weight, widens his stance, and brings his palms flat to the floor, snapping his head to smile all upside down at you.

“Like it downward doggy style, babe?” He relaxes even farther forward, leaning his weight onto his elbows as he watches you approach. “Wanna work me out cat-cow style? You that kind a bitch?”

“I’m the kind of bitch that keeps you on your toes,” you start as you lay your palms on his cheeks. Hey, can anyone blame you? They’re right there, jutting out and being sexy and everything. A holier man than you might quote the late saint Sir Mix-a-lot: you can’t help but notice that butt was stuffed. In one smooth motion, you run your hands over his ass and tickle down his spine before nestling the crook of your head in your elbow. You trace small, slow circles with your nails against his back as you talk. “Remember how you asked me to figure out something humans do that trolls don’t?”

“Gonna show me your stretch? A little _chaturanga dandasana_?” Slowly, he comes back up to his palms, hooking his left foot behind you. God, you hope this isn’t how you find out that yoga really does make people gassy.

“Something like that. Interested in me working out _dan-dat-ass_ tonight?”

“Hmmm,” he lets out a contemplative hum. Suddenly, both of his legs are tightening around your waist. Just as swiftly, the ground is no longer beneath you. “Come up with a better pun, maybe I’ll think about it.”

“What’s wrong with my pun?” Your hands find purchase on his hips as you struggle to balance; Marvus, for his part, is in his full jesterly glory.

“Can’t charm a clown with anything less than the best,” he says. He shifts from one hand to fully balance on the other, and with his now free hand, he pulls your hood over your head. 

“A little less _chat_ -ing,” you start to laugh as he pretends to lose his balance beneath you, “a little more _uranga_ -ing.”

Marvus starts shaking beneath you. Then just as suddenly as it left you, the ground finds you again with Marvus’s laughter loud in your ears.

For a moment, you’re content here. On the ground. With Marvus in your arms. Closing your eyes, you press your cheek more firmly to his sweaty, sweaty sacrum. He’s breathing hard. You clasp your hands together over his belly, smooth where yours has a divot.

“Listening now?” you ask him, voice low. 

“All ears,” he says, bringing his hand down to where yours are clasped. 

“Ever heard of anal?”

“Not in a sexy way,” he says. “Unless you’re spitting game ‘bout _getting anal_ with making me cum real hard.”

You snort. “In other words: all holes,” you say. “Yours. I want them.”

He bursts out laughing and twists around to look over and down at you. An incredulous look twists his features revealing a second, more amused look hidden beneath. “Damn, getting greedy with me already? For damn shame!” 

“You’re a man who likes to be shocked,” you say simply, pressing kisses to his skin. “And I’m the alien who can shock you.” You nip at the fleshy spot above his waistband. “God didn’t put a g-spot in the asshole for no reason.”

“This is Alternia, babe,” he shifts in front of you, letting you kiss and nip at the skin of his other side. “No god here, nobody to put that MFin _thang_ up my shizzhole, heard?”

“Really?” you say, sliding your hands down to his belly and teasing the band of his shorts. He visibly melts at your touch, guiding your hand down and under. “Hmmm... Seems someone’s interested, though. Guess you’ll be calling me God by the end of the night.”

He groans as you tease the tip of his emerging bulge. “Mm, love when you get blasphemous with me." 

“I’ll make a sinner of you yet. Still got a few tricks up my sleeve.” He huffs, delighted at this.

"Aight then, show me sumn new.” 

Slowly, you reach down to his nook. It’s hard to tell if he’s really wet or really sweaty, but either way, you’re starting to feel your own arousal spike at the humidity between his thighs. 

“Marvus,” you gasp as his nook seems to almost suck your finger into him, “you have truly made me into a disgusting human being.”

“I’m a freak and you love it,” he says, his voice heavy with lust. He grabs your wrist, helping you provide more pressure to both his bulge and against the front wall of his nook before he stills the both of you. “This business gonna hurt? Gotta prepare myself or some shit?” 

“Might have to prepare yourself _for_ some shit.” Immediately, you regret your word choice. You’ve said it before and you’ll say it again: that night on his stomping grounds wasn’t real, it can’t reach you here.

“Can’t go knocking on shit’s door and get pressed when shizz answers,” he says. Guess it was too much to hope that he missed it.

“No need to worry,” you say, blundering forward and soothing him with a kiss to a nearby vertebra. “I know a thing or two about aftercare." You kiss him again. "And before-care." Kiss kiss bitch. "And during-care.”

“Shiiiiiiiiz,” he moans as he uses your hand to fuck himself. “You been walking around with this sexy encyclopedia rattling round in ya brains and never even got it in your head to tell me?” 

“I’ve also been walking around with lube in my pocket for weeks,” you tell him as you work his pleasure nub between your thumb and the fingers still buried in his nook. “My burdens to bear.”

“What, you was nervous or sumn?” He’s squirming now, simultaneously pressing back into you as you fuck him and unable to hold his hips still as his bulge seeks its own pressure to grind against. 

He’ll never get you to admit it. Quickly, you change the subject. “So, trolls don’t do that, then?”

“Maybe a lil’ finger here and there.”

“I’ll be your first, though?” With this, you press the heel of your hand firmly against the root of his bulge, enjoying the feeling of the slick leaking down the length of him and over the back of your hand.

A rough groan escapes him as his nook tightens around your fingers. You smirk, keeping pace and pressure for him. He’s close, he’s so close. “Hell, if I can get you this good, might be that I’m your only.”

“Can’t promise shizz,” he gasps. “Got two hands of my own, ya dig?” 

“Two large and clumsy hands? They’re nothing compared to mine.” It takes almost no time at all; as soon as you scoot a little closer to him and rest your head on his waist, he’s done. His bulge wraps itself firmly around your wrist and his nook tightens around your fingers so hard that you worry about breaking some. But, at last, and with a wave of released tension, his nook is fluttering steadily around you.

Marvus always loves an audience.

He laughs mildly, left drained after the ebb and flow of his orgasm. “Who you calling clumsy?” he says. “’Sides, you’re talking big game for the dude who ain’t even got to da main event yet.”

It occurs to you that you are still spooning on the floor. Had you been on a plusher surface, with activities planned for any less plush piece of his anatomy, maybe you would have fallen asleep, your own orgasm be damned. 

“Alright, big guy,” you tap him on the hip to signal it’s time to move. _Big guy_. Jesus. Maybe you should call him champ next. It’s very possible you are a little nervous about the main event. “You showed me your stretch, it’s time I showed you mine.”

He flops over onto his back. Okay. You're getting there.

Maybe you have nerves written all over your face (you can only imagine, horrified, your expression) because, in the next moment, Marvus meets your gaze and winks at you.

You see it in the way his shoulders move: he’s slowly sliding off his shorts. From your peripherals, you can vaguely see his bulge twisting around itself. Somehow, the motion is comforting; there’s no rush, no pressure. Only you, Marvus, and the bottle of lube in your pocket.

“Know a thang or two about posing, you know?” Marvus vogues at you. “How do you want me?” 

“Um, can you-”

Marvus interrupts you. “Art’s worth a thousand words, babe, but only a couple a strokes of the brush.” He smirks at his double entendre. “Show me.”

You do your best to imitate his casual grace. In one movement, you sit back on your heels and position yourself so that you’re perpendicular to his body. 

“Good thing you’re all warmed up,” you say, grabbing a hold of him behind his knees. “According to legend, orgasms loosen you up.”

“Damn,” he says, letting his head fall back as you bring his knees up to meet his shoulders. “And here I was all stretchy anyway.” He brings his hand up to hold his own knee while you search your pockets.

Along with the lube, you’ve also stashed a few rubber gloves in your pockets. Pink, his favorite color. 

He watches you stretch the glove snugly over your hand, and he watches you with interest as you uncap the lube and warm it between your fingers. 

“Ready?” you ask, leaning over him, slicking the lube down his nook and stopping right at his perineum. With his nod, you continue, giving him some time to get used to the pressure against his ass. 

It’s easy to go on autopilot, and it’s worth it to watch the show. As your fingers work against him, going no deeper than the pad of your thumb, his body and his voice tell you what he’s thinking. Pressure at his perineum earns you a twitch of his foot and choked laughter. Dragging your fingers closer to his tailbone makes his stomach clench along with his teeth; ticklish or sensitive or something not at all pleasant, you can’t tell. But he relaxes the second time you do it, and slowly your body is buzzing with the desire to see him filled, to fuck him and claim him in equal measure.

God, you’ve never been more thankful for troll anatomy. 

Marvus, as you now notice, has sat up on his palms to watch you. With your other hand, you tickle at the folds of skin that emerge on his belly.

“You have to relax,” you tell him. “I still don’t know if this is going to work.”

“Shizz, I’m not gonna make it easy on you,” still, though, he does relax a bit back onto his elbows. With a lopsided smile, he knocks his foot into your temple, teasing. “Tryna tease me? What’s the hold up? Said you _knew a thing or two_ ,” he pitches his voice in a caricature of yours, “about that during-care. Seems to me like you got a lot to say bout that before-care, though.”

“It’s important!” you object. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Takes a lot more than that to hurt me, LOL!” he throws his head back as your hand squeezes his thigh in protest. “Mm, get to it, then.” His foot taps your head again.

You get to it, then. It occurs to you that you’re still fucking him on his hard-ass floor, and Marvus is lanky and full of hard-ass bones. You reach your arm out blindly to your left, eyes fixated on the sway of his body as his breathing picks up. At last, your fingers find purchase on the rubber yoga mat. Sweaty though it may be, it’s shades more comfortable than the alternative. Marvus lifts his hips for you, and, after folding it in half, you slide the mat under his body.

He lowers his leg to latch around your waist, and you hug it secure, close to your body. 

“Showtime,” you say. He huffs a laugh, and you’re pressing in.

“How’s that?” you ask him as his shoulders tense, and then release with his breath. 

“Feels like a finger in my damn ass,” he says, but his voice is bubbly with laughter.

“Downward dog could never,” you say. Once you’ve reached the first knuckle of your index finger, you stop, give him a second to breathe. 

“Never been this down with wunna my doggs before,” he says, filling your quota of downward dog jokes. He groans, closing his eyes and throwing his head back. “Never been this deep on a digit.”

His voice has taken on a rhythmic quality; it’s almost soothing, and you realize you needed to be soothed. Just for a moment.

“Think you could go deeper?” you ask him.

“Damn, you for real never did your stretches, huh?” he arches his back. The motion draws your finger out of him. “Goes like this, take notes.”

He starts.... beat-boxing for you, why are you not surprised? You’re put so off-balance that it takes you a moment to connect the dots; the rhythm of his hips matches the rhythm of his beat. 

So you fuck him like that, with your finger to his rhythm. “Yeah,” he lets out as you explore different angles, then “ _yuh!_ ” and you can’t tell if he’s hyped about his own beat or yours. Slowly, you can feel his muscles relaxing around your touch. Time for part two.

“Skeet skeet brr _oh **fuck**!_” Marvus throws his head backs and curses- _really_ curses, none of his reality TV star censoring- as you press your second finger against him.

“You know I keep that MFin _thang_ on me!” you say between laughs, referencing his earlier joke, and Marvus laughs too. You press the second finger inside and Marvus lets out a deep, satisfied moan, slightly garbled by his laughter.

“Damn, right there on ya digits this whole time, fuck, _fuck_ ,” lightning-fast, he grabs you by the cheeks and pinches your mouth open, licking his way inside. “You hit-” he gasps for breath before diving back into your mouth. “-on sumn real good there.” He kisses you again, slower and deeper as he draws your breath into his lungs and you add more lube to your fingers. “Do it again.”

Unfortunately, you were not paying attention and have no idea what he’s talking about. And, deep in thought, you’ve apparently stopped, because in the next minute Marvus lets out his signature, frustrated sound: “Tch, maan, like this.” He grabs you by the wrist, face lined with the most focused expression you’ve ever seen on him as he uses your hand to fuck his ass.

First, he guides you in deeper. Some genetic material- from his bulge or nook, you can’t tell, for both are flushed so deeply purple and are throbbing with such demand that your mouth waters- leaks down. He swipes some of his natural lubrication down to join your silicone-based lube, and keens as your fingers glide in with ease.

Next, he changes the angle of your hand so that you’re pressing at the wall that his ass shares with his nook. This new angle forces you onto your hands and knees, and he smirks down at you. The expression is slightly undercut by the beads of sweat rolling down his temple, though. 

“Round these parts,” he says, and you let your eyes wander down to _those parts_. Hell, why let your eyes and hands have all the fun? You’re going in with all five senses.

You bring your face closer to his bulge, teasing your lips around where bulge meets nook. Upon your next breath, you catch the scent of him; heady and masculine and not unlike salt and sweat. You’re left dizzy with the sensation of it. His pleasured laughter is interspersed with direction, _deeper_ and _slide to the left_ and, for a moment, you think he’s guiding you to a _cha-cha real smooth_ before finally, he lets out an excited gasp.

“What the hell is that!” Despite the words, he sounds jubilant, almost childlike in his excitement. 

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Still, you do your duty figuring out what the hell that is. Your fingers have found a spot that feels not unlike a water balloon. A fleshy, sexy water balloon. God, you hope this isn’t his idea of a prank. 

But as you provide more pressure, Marvus figures it out for you. “My genebladder,” he gasps, bringing his fist to his mouth to muffle whatever sounds he’s making. “Messiahs hold and over-roll me,” seems your earlier prediction about making a sinner out of him is fast-tracked to hold true, “babe-”

“Hold on, I’m writing this into my sexy mental encyclopedia.” God, you wish Mallek was right about you; how you wish you were a robot, so you could save this image and burn it into your brain forever.

As you provide pressure to his genebladder, genetic material seems almost to flood out of him. Ah, so this is where the bucket comes in. You’d wondered about that.

“Is that... good?”

“No more alien hospitality and caring,” he says, between arching his back and stretching out his legs around you (and you wince when you hear the loud pop of his hip). “A brother likes a little rough handling now and again.”

Fine, then; you handle him rough. First, though, you reposition yourself over him, one hand beside his waist (that he immediately grabs a hold of, digging his nails into your flesh) to allow you leverage. And then you fuck him in earnest.

Your fingers are insistent against that spot in his ass, granting him no quarter. You lean down, pressing yourself against him so that he may rut his bulge against your belly. The puddle of his genetic material is growing prodigious, dampening your knees.

In a final moment of inspiration, you press your thumb into his nook. It’s not long enough to get at his genebladder from here, but the pressure is enough to have Marvus calling out for you regardless.

“ _Fuck_ , my mate, I-” But his sentence is forfeit to his body. You can feel the jerk and pulse of his bulge between you keeping in time with the clench and release of his nook.

And, for the moment, Marvus is lost. In orgasm, certainly, but perhaps emotionally, too. Not like either of you is going to bring that up now; maybe you’ll ruin breakfast by being infuriatingly mature and direct with your feelings.

But for now, you roll onto your side, nestling your head into the crook of his neck and petting his hair.

He wraps his arm around you before glancing at you with an exhausted smile.

“Got _damn_ ,” he says, all pearly whites. Then he’s reaching down, flicking some of his genetic material at you. “Slosh slosh baby, how’s this for sex for the sole purpose of procreation?”

You laugh, wiping at your cheek. “Usually that phrase is used as an insult, as in _under the sheets, quietly, and with the lights out._ We absolutely did not do that.”

“Damn shame,” he says, mock-pouting at you. “Kinda curious to see how quiet you’d keep it, under my sheets with my lights only.” He flashes his voodoos at you, and a wave of relaxation hits you all unbidden. He chuckles at your reaction.

“We’ve got time,” Marvus interrupts you with a slimy finger to your belly. “Need I remind you? You had two whole orgasms. How many did I have?”

He draws a few “:o)”s on your skin, giving you a look instead of a response.

“What? Clowns can’t count now?”

“You had none, so I said jack shit.” 

“Jack this,” you say, leading his hand down to your pants. 

You’re tired. Your hand is cramping. You’re horny as all hell; there’s no way you’re letting this one slide.

You close your eyes and consider how you want him next.

As you lie there and work out your prodigious imagination, Marvus starts rolling you up in his yoga mat. The night’s just getting weirder and weirder and you love him for it.

“I kinda liked the sound of keeping you _quiet_ , _against your sheets_ , and _your lights only._ ”

After all, the night’s only just begun. Marvus isn’t the only one who can flex.


End file.
